


Folded Steel

by Moorishflower



Series: The Forge 'Verse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-11
Updated: 2010-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel doesn't like road trips, and he doesn't like change, and he most certainly does not like Dean Winchester...but he does like Sam. Part 4 of the Forge 'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Folded Steel

Watching Castiel eat a cheeseburger is just about the most disturbing thing Gabriel has ever seen…well, while he’s been human, anyways. He saw some pretty fucked up shit when he was an angel, and not all of it done by humans.

But seeing Castiel eating is beyond weird, well into the realm of “almost hard to watch”, mostly because he doesn’t react to food in any way that’s recognizably human. When their waitress brings their food over, Castiel doesn’t straighten in his seat, and he doesn’t look up expectantly as the plate is set down in front of him, and when he picks the cheeseburger itself up he doesn’t _hold_ it properly. He holds it like he’s just _thinking_ about eating it, almost…hesitant. When he actually takes a bite, he chews quickly and efficiently. He only needs bare seconds to recognize the flavor of the thing – for an angel, especially an angel like Castiel, there’s no such thing as “savoring”.

Gabriel orders the largest chocolate milkshake he possibly can, and something that’s billed as a “southwestern burger”. Gabriel isn’t sure what kind of southwest the maker of the menu has been visiting, because he’s pretty sure that onion rings are a largely universal concept. But it sounds good, and he hasn’t really had anything to eat other than pizza and hot dogs for the past week, so it’s a change of pace.

He orders a turkey melt for Sam, and a vanilla milkshake, and a small salad, because he has the suspicion that he hasn’t exactly been providing Sam with a balanced diet. Iceberg lettuce will have to do for now, and Sam tucks into the sandwich with the same enthusiasm as he devours microwaved hot dogs covered with cheddar cheese spread, so Gabriel feels less awful about depriving him of actual, _decent_ food.

“So,” Gabriel says. He levels Castiel with a look that he hopes comes across as “suspicious and hostile”, not “pathetically grateful to have an excuse to leave the house”. “Spill. Chuck’s books were a little skimpy on the details, and I kind of _would_ like to know why I’m taking care of a possibly brain-damaged former vessel.”

Sam kicks him under the table. Gabriel doesn’t say anything, because he figures that he probably deserved that, and, if Sam is aware enough to kick him over an insult, that’s nothing but good news. Castiel mechanically chews his mouthful of cheeseburger, without any hint of enjoyment.

“You don’t _have_ to eat,” Gabriel snaps, and Castiel immediately puts the burger down, with the air of someone who has finally been relieved of some heavy burden. “Shit, Heaven went all-out, huh? Complete overhaul. No humanity left.”

“I have been renewed,” Castiel says. “Not erased. I remember my time with Dean. I remember what it is to be powerless. I remember, but it is in the past, and no longer affects me.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Sam chimes in, and Gabriel snorts into his milkshake. Castiel makes a face like he isn’t sure _what_ he’s feeling. _Ah-ha_. So Heaven hasn’t turned him into a stunted, emotionless robot after all – he’s just _pretending_ at being one. Can’t have the other angels thinking he isn’t fit for the job.

Gabriel sips his milkshake, and considers the fact that, out of all the things he misses about Heaven, about being an angel…the politics isn’t one of them.

“Dean,” Sam says, drawing Gabriel’s attention back to the present. “Where’s Dean?”

“Cicero, Indiana,” Castiel says, without hesitation, without inflection. “With Lisa Braeden, and her son Benjamin.”

Sam brightens, slightly. Gabriel wonders if any part of him remembers a desperate promise made at night, a slumbering angel in the backseat and the threat of mutually assured destruction looming ahead of them. Or maybe it’s just Sam being happy that his brother is still out there, somewhere, waiting to be found again. Somehow, Gabriel doesn’t think it’ll quite work out that way.

“Good to hear,” Gabriel says. “Dean-o got his apple pie life and happy ending after all. _Fantastic_. Now get to the important part. Why is Sam here? And why did he come to _me_?”

“He is here because it is the Will of God that he be here,” Castiel intones. Gabriel rolls his eyes.

“That a fancy way of saying you don’t know? Or do you mean God _actually_ brought him back?”

Castiel remains silent. He picks at his half-eaten cheeseburger bun, an act that’s surprisingly close to a nervous habit. _Renewed, but not erased._ Gabriel’s beginning to see it.

“It is not for me to know,” Castiel murmurs, finally. “There has been so much to do, Gabriel. I admit that I have not been paying as much attention to humans as I should have been, but Heaven has been sundered, and there are none left to repair it but me.”

“Blah blah, responsibility,” Gabriel mutters. “Second question. Why did Sam come to me? Or to Chuck, anyways. When he showed up he kept saying the sky told him where to go.”

“It is possible he received Revelation.”

“Bullshit. Only prophets, angels and saints can receive Revelation. Sam isn’t any of those.”

“Only prophets, angels and saints are capable of _understanding_ the true desires of God,” Castiel corrects. “Any human may receive Revelation, but they are unlikely to understand it. Or be…unaffected by it.”

“God spoke to me?” Sam asks, confused. “Is that why I’m all…?” He makes a gesture that he’s probably seen Gabriel make before, a slow twirl of his forefinger against his temple. Gabriel coughs. If Dean ever asks about _that_ one, he’ll just have to say that Sam must have seen it on the television.

“It is likely not helping things,” Castiel says gently. Every so often his speech pattern…changes, Gabriel’s noticed. He sounds more human. More conversational. He wonders if that’s Dean’s doing, as well. “But, based on what Gabriel has mentioned, it appears as though you are…better.”

“It used to be confusing,” Sam murmurs. “I was in a dark place. For a long time.” He picks apart his turkey melt, peeling off a string of melted cheddar cheese and then licking it from his fingers. Gabriel turns his gaze away, swallowing hard. “And then there was too much sound and light, and it was like…some big hand just grabbed my brain and told me where to go.” Sam shrugs. “And then I walked for a while, and then I found Gabriel. It’s still confusing, but all the sound and light is normal, now. And Gabriel makes me sandwiches. Which is nice.”

“Your presence has helped,” Castiel says. Gabriel might be hallucinating it, but he’s pretty sure that’s a note of _approval_ in Castiel’s voice.

“He would have done better with Chuck,” Gabriel complains, but it’s halfhearted, considering what he suspects ( _knows_ ) about the prophet. He isn’t sure that Sam _would_ have been better with Chuck…maybe with Becky? But Becky lives like, three states away, now, and Gabriel might feel up to cruising down back roads at thirty miles an hour while Sam bounces in the passenger seat, but he’s pretty sure he’d have a heart attack if he tried to go out on the highway at this point.

“And yet you are the one he found. God works in – ”

“If you say ‘mysterious ways’ I’m going to punch you in the jugular,” Gabriel says mildly. Castiel closes his mouth. Sam laughs and then licks half-melted vanilla ice cream from his bottom lip. Gabriel clears his throat, and digs his nails into the meat of his palm, trying to distract himself while Castiel gives him that fucking _knowing_ look.

“ _So_ ,” Gabriel says loudly, causing the couple in the booth behind them to look up. “Indiana. Elder Winchester. Unless you’re providing me with plane tickets, I don’t see how there’s going to be a family reunion. It’s not like I’m particularly good at _driving_.”

“I am,” Sam chimes in. “I drove Dean’s car. All the time, when he was…”

Sam’s expression stills, and for a moment he looks more like a photo of a person, utterly silent. Then he frowns, and looks glumly down at his milkshake.

“When he was gone,” Sam finishes, his voice small. Gabriel brutally throttles his sudden urge to give Sam a hug.

“I do not know how prudent it would be to reveal yourselves to Dean,” Castiel cautions. “He may be…upset.”

“I want to see Dean,” Sam insists.

“Keeping Sam away from him is the _worst_ possible idea you have ever had,” Gabriel mutters, and then straightens his shoulders, giving his half-eaten burger a mournful look. He’s no longer hungry. “Okay, genius, what’s the plan?”

Castiel’s brows furrow. “Plan?”

“The plan to get me and Sam to Indiana. How about you just fly us there? And that way, I won’t be cursing your name before I go to sleep every night.”

Castiel purses his mouth, an odd, “I just bit into a lemon” look that simultaneously conveys thoughtfulness and disapproval. Gabriel used to be able to do that – now he’s relegated to being on the receiving end of it.

“Whatever you’re thinking of, don’t do it,” Gabriel warns.

Castiel blinks, smiles, and then disappears.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Gabriel says. Sam makes a noise like he agrees.

~

Gabriel doesn’t know the first thing about road trips…but Sam, who’s been through almost every state in the entire country at one point or another, does. The problem is getting Sam to _focus_. He’s doing a hundred times better than he was when he first showed up, but his concentration is still shot – all the knowledge is there, all the intelligence and the experience, but it’s just getting Sam to access it that’s the problem.

“Okay,” Gabriel says, spreading out his collection of Post-It notes, holding his pen ready. “What do we need to bring with us?” Cicero is a four-hour drive away, according to Google Maps, so, depending on when they leave, it might take them a day or two days, at the most. It all depends on how well Sam does, on how often he needs to take a break. Gabriel still wants to be prepared.

“Sandwiches,” Sam says immediately. Gabriel presses his thumbs against his temples and sighs.

“I don’t think sandwiches are a good idea, kiddo,” he says wearily. “The car’ll be hot, and whatever we put on the sandwiches will either get all wilted and gross or it will go bad.”

Sam looks at him. Really _looks_.

“Come on, Sam,” Gabriel murmurs, and Sam snaps to attention, grabbing the pen from Gabriel’s hand and starting to scribble things down. Gabriel can barely keep up – it’s a laundry list of non-perishable road food, first aid kits, rock salt, _weapons_. Gabriel doesn’t know if there are any demons out there still looking to raise hell, but being well armed is hardly a bad idea. Gabriel won’t be able to procure sawed-off pump action shotguns on such short notice, but rock salt? He can buy whole bags of it at the hardware store in town. And he might not be able to convince anyone that he’s a former archangel, but he can _probably_ convince the local Catholic Church to fork over some holy water. If two brothers from Kansas could do it, why can’t he?

“You know it’s not going to take all that long,” Gabriel says, once Sam stops writing, having apparently written down everything but the kitchen sink. “Two days, tops.”

“You never know when something will go wrong,” Sam says firmly, and then smiles. It isn’t the dopey, slightly vague smile that he sometimes gets, on bad days when it seems like there’s hardly any _Sam_ left at all. It’s small and quiet and clever, and Gabriel _recognizes_ it.

It’s wonderful.

“Castiel wasn’t kidding,” he says softly. “You’re better.”

“Getting better,” Sam corrects, neatly arranging the Post-It notes into a line, starting with what looks like “most important” (weapons) and ending with “least important” (clothes). Gabriel’s pretty sure they won’t need to bring _clothes_ , but he isn’t about to interrupt. He hasn’t seen Sam this focused for weeks.

“You could probably make this trip by yourself.” Gabriel doesn’t frame it like an offer, but it is. Disregarding one short, dry kiss, Gabriel has no idea how Sam feels about…him. About Gabriel sticking around. “I mean…give you a credit card and enough food to last a week…you’d make it. Might have to stop and breathe a few times, but…you could manage.”

“I don’t want to go by myself.” Sam turns his gaze to Gabriel. His expression is remarkably clear of confusion or hesitance. “After everything you’ve done for me…the least I can do is keep Dean from trying to kill you on sight. And you know he’d try, if he saw you on your own.”

“Despite everything?” Gabriel asks incredulously. “Despite the fact that I went and _died_ for you two?”

“Dean holds grudges,” Sam says with a shrug.

“Too right he does,” Gabriel mutters, and starts making a mental list of the things they already have in the house.

~

Gabriel’s driving skills leave a lot to be desired, but he’s been practicing. And by “practicing” he means “driving up and down the residential roads, praying that he doesn’t hit someone’s pet, or worse, someone’s child”. But that’s why Sam’s agreed to drive in the first place, because Gabriel will probably have a panic attack the instant he rolls himself onto a highway, and this is something that Sam has _done_. For practically his whole life, even.

“Okay,” Gabriel says, slightly winded from hauling the bag of rock salt from the house to the trunk of the car. “That’s everything. Although it’s _beyond_ me as to why we need the two backpacks.”

“Just in case,” Sam insists. It seems like a lot of the things that Sam’s asked him to pack into the car are “just in case”. The rock salt, the holy water (cleverly obtained from the local Catholic Church, as Gabriel had promised), the _shovel_. Gabriel isn’t certain what Sam’s planning on burying, considering that Gabriel’s already held a funeral for his pride, but Sam had insisted. Sam’s been insisting on a lot of things, and, on the one hand, Gabriel’s kind of annoyed, because he managed fairly well on his own even _before_ Sam showed up. In fact, as few as three weeks ago Sam could barely take care of himself, let alone the organization of a shopping list. But, on the other hand, it means that Sam’s getting better. More than getting better, he’s _thriving_. The prospect of seeing his brother has put color into his cheeks, and his smiles have lost that slightly off quality.

Gabriel isn’t used to it, but he likes it all the same.

“You sure we have everything?” Sam asks, and Gabriel prods him roughly in the shoulder as he passes, startling a laugh out of him. The way things are going, Sam might be able to drive for an hour or two before he starts getting tired, falling back into that grey place.

“I’m sure,” Gabriel says, and then climbs into the passenger seat. It’s odd – the last time he sat here, Chuck was driving and Gabriel still didn’t know how to properly bathe himself. A lot of things have changed in a very short amount of time.

Sam gives the trunk one last once-over before he slides into the driver’s seat, resting his hands easily on the wheel. He’s got this expression that’s almost like nostalgia – Gabriel imagines that Chuck’s station wagon is significantly less badass than the Winchester Family Impala, but still, driving across the country is something that’s intrinsically linked to the hunter lifestyle. For Sam, it must be like slipping into an old and well-loved sweater. Like a pair of jeans worn in all the right places.

Gabriel pulls the keys from his pocket, and hands them over with a small nod.

“Go for it,” he says, and Sam starts the engine. His hands are shaking, Gabriel notices…but he can’t tell if it’s from fear or excitement.

~

Sam holds it together for an entire hour before he needs to stop, wide-eyed and suddenly worried about everything from how much gas they have to how often the oil’s been checked, and then he sort of just…falls quiet. Gabriel manages to get the car parked in a small rest area by the side of the road. A sign about fifty feet ahead of them says Welcome to Dublin! Someone’s scrawled their handle on it in yellow spray-paint. Gabriel can’t even make out what the letters are.

“Don’t worry,” Gabriel says. “It’ll be okay. Just…give yourself a few minutes.” He tries to sound soothing – he doesn’t think he’s managing it very well, but Sam gives him a look that’s pathetically grateful, so Gabriel doesn’t think too hard on it.

“I hate this,” Sam murmurs. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Eventually, he seems to settle on scrubbing them over his face. “It’s like trying to…to walk through a swamp. Can I have something to eat?”

Gabriel reaches towards the back seat, fishes around until he manages to snag what feels like a bag of _something_ that’s edible. He draws it up, and, sure enough, it’s a bag of beef jerky. He hands it to Sam, who takes it but doesn’t do anything with it.

“Talk to me,” Sam says. He sounds almost desperate. “I don’t want to be alone in my head.”

“Uh,” Gabriel says. He isn’t sure what Sam wants him to do. Talk? About what? About Dean? Gabriel’s opinions on Dean Winchester are many, but they aren’t terribly flattering. Then again, his opinions on _most_ things aren’t very flattering. And he highly doubts that Sam wants him to talk about _himself_. About how he still, occasionally, has nightmares. About how he can’t sleep, half the time, and the other half he doesn’t want to.

“You kissed me,” Gabriel tries, and Sam glances at him, plastic bag of beef jerky crumpling between his fingers. “A few days ago. I was sitting on the couch, and…”

“I remember,” Sam says. He sounds vaguely irritated. Gabriel has to remind himself that Sam can keep more things in his head, now. He isn’t just concerned with where he’s going to get his next microwave pizza. Things have changed.

“…And?” Gabriel tries.

“And I kissed you. You helped me, and I wanted to…thank you.”

“Oh,” Gabriel says. “That’s all, then? It was…thanks?”

Sam glances at him, a sort of searching look. Gabriel rolls down the passenger side window – it’s starting to cool off at night, but it’s still hot, sometimes, during the day.

“Did you want it to be more than thanks?” Sam asks. He sounds…serious. Well, as serious as he _can_ sound when there are parts of his brain that are still a bit…fuzzy, around the edges. But he sounds genuinely interested. And Gabriel…

Gabriel has no idea what to say.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “You think _you’re_ having problems, then consider this: until about two months ago, I didn’t even have a _gender_. This is…” He swallows. “Being human is confusing. A lot of things are different. A lot of things have changed.”

“What about the girls?” Sam asks. Gabriel stares at him blankly. “The…the girls. That you made for Dean. You seemed to like them.”

Gabriel has to wrack his brain in order to figure out what Sam is talking about…and then he remembers. The first time they met. Well, “met” in that Sam and Dean had thought that he was a Trickster, but still. It had been him (most of the time, anyways). Sam is looking blankly at him, and Gabriel huffs softly.

“Number one, they were illusions,” he says, holding up a hand and ticking fingers off. “Even if a fake plant’s really, really lifelike, that doesn’t make it anything other than a _fake_ plant. Number two, I liked those girls because they were basically an extension of my Grace. And, you know, pretty fond of myself. And three…I never did anything with them. The worst I ever did with my illusions was have them hand-feed me chocolate.”

“You never…?”

Gabriel snorts. “What part of ‘extension of myself’ are you not getting?”

Sam shrugs, and then glances out the window. Occasionally, a car will pass them by, but, for the most part, the roads are empty. Which is weird – is it normal for a highway to be so deserted? Gabriel’s experience with them is next to none, so he has no way of knowing, and Sam’s getting to the point where, even if he _does_ know, he won’t be able to articulate it.

“So you’re a virgin,” Sam says. Gabriel hangs his head out the open window, counting to ten before turning back to Sam. He arches an eyebrow.

“Do you want the answer to that because you want ammo for later, or because you’re actually interested?”

It takes Sam a while to answer. Gabriel drums his fingers against the door, trying to figure out what he’ll do if Sam _does_ just see him as…some sort of caretaker. Someone to be gotten rid of at a later, more convenient date.

“Because I…” Sam pauses. Gabriel watches his throat bob as he swallows, and then continues. “Because I like you. Because I just…want to know.”

“There’s a fine line between ‘like’ and ‘tolerate’, Sam.”

Sam frowns. “I don’t tolerate you. I’ll tell you if you’re being a dick, Gabriel. Like now.”

And then he leans across the small space between them, seatbelt tight across his chest, and he kisses the corner of Gabriel’s mouth. It’s soft. Sweet. It’s far more than Gabriel deserves, but everything that he wants. He turns his head a little, fitting their mouths more firmly together. Once, Gabriel would have found humans lukewarm, at most – angels radiate far more heat than humans, part of the strain of keeping themselves folded away in such small bodies. Now, though, Sam is blazing hot, and Gabriel is always so _cold_. It’s a welcome respite.

Sam’s breath hitches, and Gabriel leans back immediately. Was that a good sound? He can’t tell if it meant “more, please” or “get away before I puke on you”, both of which are entirely possible, considering who’s making the sound in the first place. But Sam’s eyes are closed, and he doesn’t _look_ like he’s on the verge of puking.

Gabriel stares at him.

“No.” Sam opens his eyes, pupils blown wide. He looks confused. “No, I’m not a virgin. I posed as a pagan god for a few millennia; of course I’ve had sex. But I’m not an angel anymore, either. Humans experience things differently. They feel more. I’m not used to it.”

Sam looks fascinated. Gabriel shrugs one shoulder – the differences between human and angel physiology aren’t something he wants to get into, right now. Possibly ever. It’s one of those things that would take a lifetime to explain, and another lifetime to understand.

“We should get going,” Gabriel says. He feels…vaguely uncomfortable under Sam’s scrutiny. He likes the kid. He _wants_ him, if the way his body is reacting is any indication.

But he isn’t sure he _deserves_ him.

Sam frowns at him, all puzzled mouth and mussed hair. Gabriel wants to touch it. Humans are stupidly tactile creatures, and Gabriel isn’t sure what’s considered appropriate and what isn’t. They just kissed. Does that mean Gabriel is allowed to touch Sam’s hair without being given permission first? He thinks it’s getting to the point where Sam is becoming his own caretaker, but still, does he even have the right? After everything he’s done?

The whole “guilt” thing is new, and entirely unwelcome. Gabriel sinks down into his seat, watching as Sam shakes his head, and then slowly turns the key in the ignition.

The engine sputters, coughs, and refuses to turn over.

Sam tries again. And again. Four more times, with the engine sounding progressively worse with each attempt, until, finally, it makes a sound that Gabriel’s never heard before, but which is _definitely_ a bad sound, and then falls silent.

Gabriel pushes the heel of his palm against his eyes, trying to stave off the headache he _knows_ he’s going to get. “Fuck,” he says, and Sam nods miserably.

~

They walk.

There isn’t really any other choice – it’s either hoof it, or wait in the hot, uncomfortable car for an undetermined amount of time, waiting for someone to drive by and maybe, _maybe_ notice and stop for them. At least with walking, they have a greater chance of getting closer to…wherever it is they’re going. Bumfuck, Indiana, home of Dean Winchester, Brainless Wonder.

Gabriel doesn’t say that out loud, though. He has the feeling that Sam, as tired and out of it as he is, probably won’t appreciate it.

They grab as much as they can carry, packing everything into backpacks and plastic shopping bags. Sam hauls their arsenal of weapons along on his back, while Gabriel is relegated to carrying bags of nonperishable foodstuffs like jerky and bottled water. When he had reached for one of the heavier bags, Sam had just _looked_ at him, and Gabriel had immediately pulled his hand back. He feels a bit resentful, but not all that much. Sure, he’s no delicate flower, but…but sometimes he wakes up and his stomach still hurts. Sometimes the scar feels like it’ll pull open if he moves the wrong way. That’s life as a human, he supposes.

“Talk to me,” Sam says. It’s the second time he’s said it, the second time he’s worn that look that says _keep me from getting lost in myself_. There’s sweat beading on his forehead and trickling down between his eyes, eyes that are slightly vacant, but which snap back into focus every minute or so. Sam is half-running on autopilot, but if Gabriel talking will help him keep it together then so be it.

“About what?” They are three miles from the town proper – they have a lot of time to talk about a variety of topics, but still. Some guidelines would be nice.

“Anything. No. Yourself. Tell me about yourself.”

“Not much to tell. Or…too much, I guess. A lot of it is getting fuzzy. Human brains aren’t built to hold an infinite amount of information, the way angels’ are.”

“You’re forgetting your life?”

“Not really. More like forgetting details. I still remember that I was at Woodstock, and I remember the day that Yeshua was crucified…but I couldn’t tell you what Janis Joplin was wearing. I can’t remember the name of the soldier who was standing next to me as they drove the nails into the Christ child’s feet. I remember events, not specifics. It’s…frustrating.”

“Sometimes that’s how I feel,” Sam murmurs. He shifts his backpacks, one on each shoulder. They’re full of the most basic kinds of weapons (a handgun, a few knives, rock salt, holy water), clothes, things like rope and a small garden trowel. The full-sized shovel had been too heavy. “Like everything that I’m remembering is a shadow of what it used to be.”

“Don’t say that. You’re getting better.”

“Not fast enough.”

“I think you’re expecting too much of yourself,” Gabriel says. “For a guy who was raised from Hell _and_ heard the voice of God? You’re doing pretty well.”

“I just wish…” Sam’s voice drifts off, leaving the sentence unfinished. Gabriel glances sideways, and sees that Sam has switched off again. He walks mechanically, careful not to drop his backpacks, but, otherwise, Gabriel might as well be looking at a sleepwalker.

“You know,” Gabriel says, “when I was brought back, I had to walk, too. I get the feeling I walked more than I should have, considering I was in Connecticut at the time. But that’d be just like my Father, pulling a prank like that. Making me walk fifty miles when the whole fucking state is only a hundred and ten miles long. He kept me from starving, though. Kept me from dying of dehydration. So that’s something.”

Sam glances at him, a cursory look. Gabriel keeps talking. “I ended up in a hospital. They had to stitch me up – I had a hole in my stomach the size of…well, the size of an archangel’s blade. Had a vitamin deficiency, too. Don’t remember which one. Guess that’s what comes of centuries of eating nothing but sweets.”

Sam glances ahead again, but he’s smiling, a little bit. Some of the blankness has left his eyes. He keeps drifting in and out, but Gabriel talking seems to help, if only a little.

“That’s how I met Chuck. His was the only phone number I could find, so I called him, and he came and picked me up. This was…a little while before your big showdown with Lucifer. Chuck disappeared, right afterwards. I slept through it. Didn’t notice a thing.” This is partially a lie, but what Sam doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“How did you come back?” Sam’s voice is faint, thready. A little bit distracted. Gabriel has to puzzle through the question for a moment before he realizes what Sam means.

“Oh. There are more gods in this world than just my Father. I wasn’t the most popular Trickster around, but I had a few friends. They brought me back.”

“Maybe I’ll meet them one day.”

“I doubt it.” Gabriel purses his lips. “They’re…predators. Most of them, anyways. Not the kind of gods you want to meet in a dark alley.”

Sam doesn’t say anything more. Gabriel tries to tell him the joke about the Jewish man and the Chinese man in a bar, but Sam just stares at him blankly. Not dopey, not confused, just not _listening_ , and okay, they’re both tired, it’s understandable.

Gabriel gives up on the jokes. He focuses on the walking.

A part of him thinks it’s fitting, that they end up like this, together. They started out walking on their own. But now they’ve got, if nothing else, each other.

~

They reach the town of Dublin at around seven in the evening, just as the sky is beginning to put on its twilight colors. Everything is red and purple and dark, dark blue as they finally wander into the first motel that they lay eyes on.

Gabriel pays using Chuck’s seemingly inexhaustible debit card, although, logically, he knows that the money will run out, eventually. Chuck’s books might have been considered cult hits, but they didn’t generate _that_ much revenue.

“I’ll buy a bus ticket tomorrow,” he promises, and ignores the hairy eyeball that he gets from the night manager when he asks for one room and two beds, instead of two entirely separate rooms. “There’s got to be one heading into Cicero, or somewhere nearby. It’s only like, two hours away. We just need to get as close as we can, and then we can call a cab if we have to.”

“I don’t like taxis,” Sam says faintly. “They smell weird.”

“Don’t really have any experience with that, but I’ll take your word for it. C’mon, Sam, maybe a hot shower will wake you up.”

Gabriel glances only once at the night manager, staring at them disapprovingly, before he leads Sam down the short hallway and towards room 202. The motel uses keycards, not actual keys, and it takes Gabriel a few tries before he figures out how to hold the damn thing, and which way to swipe it, but eventually he manages to get the door open. Then it’s only a matter of getting Sam _inside_ (more difficult than you would think, but one can’t underestimate the size of the backpacks he’s toting), and getting him to set everything down, and then getting him to _sit_ before he falls over. The beds aren’t exactly goose down soft, but they’re functional, and the sheets are clean. The carpet is an unattractive shade of sea foam green, but, overall, they could have picked a worse place to spend the night.

“Hey,” Gabriel says, and lightly touches Sam’s cheek. He’s sitting on the edge of the second bed, staring off into the middle distance, but when Gabriel’s palm touches him he startles, like someone’s just jolted him out of a deep sleep.

“Gabriel?”

“I’m here, Sam.”

“Where are we?”

Gabriel closes his eyes. Swallows. “We’re in Dublin. In a motel. Do you remember anything from the past few hours?”

“Sort of.” Sam squints into the middle distance, as if trying to remember a memory from his childhood. “You were telling me about…how you came back. And then it was like I fell asleep for a little while. I feel better now, though.”

“Probably because you aren’t walking anymore.” Gabriel sighs, then straightens up and heads for the tiny bathroom. “I’m going to get the shower running. You look like you could use a little R and R.”

“Not too hot, please,” Sam says, and Gabriel shakes his head fondly as he steps into the bright light of the bathroom, heading straight for the tub. He runs the taps for a few minutes, trying to find the perfect medium between hot and warm – he rolls up his sleeves as he crouches down, testing the water with his forearm. He doesn’t trust the sensitivity of his hands. Hell, he doesn’t trust the sensitivity of any part of his body, considering how cold he always feels. Maybe the water that he perceives as boiling hot is really only tepid? Or maybe it’s the opposite? He has no way of knowing until Sam comes in and tells him if the water is too hot, or…

“Gabriel?”

He shakes his hand over the tub, trying to get rid of most of the water, before turning around as best he can while he’s kneeling down on one knee, and…

“Oh,” Gabriel says. “You’re naked.” His brain tries vainly to process this new information, but it keeps stuttering to a stop somewhere around the…oh, the _naked_ part, because sure, he’s seen Sam without any clothes on. It was sort of necessary, back when Sam still couldn’t bathe himself without help. Gabriel has taken care of every intimate part of Sam, but it had been…clinical, he supposes, is the word. Now Sam is standing in front of him, naked as a jaybird, and he’s _smiling_ , and Gabriel doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do with that.

“You’ve seen me naked before,” Sam says, and steps into the bathroom. Gabriel’s head is roughly level with Sam’s thigh; he very carefully doesn’t look up. “How’s this any different?”

“You weren’t naked with intent, before.”

“With intent?” Sam makes a soft sound, sort of a laugh and sort of a snort, as he steps over Gabriel and into the tub. The water washes around his feet, and Gabriel tries to discreetly look up. Sam’s eyes are closed, seemingly in bliss. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that…” Gabriel swallows. “It means that I should leave you to your shower.” He stands, too quickly, and he almost knocks his head against Sam’s hand, but he manages to sway back at the last minute, avoiding embarrassment. He tries to avert his eyes, but in a bathroom as small as this there’s really no way to avoid the fact that Sam is naked, and he’s just _right there_ , and Gabriel’s only experience with sex as a human has been one half-hearted bout of masturbation in a house, in a shower, that was never his in the first place. He’s…understandably curious.

He’ll also be understandably _devastated_ when Sam eventually drops him like a hot rock. He’s not looking to make that experience any more painful than it already will be.

He tries to leave. He _wants_ to leave, but then Sam says, “Gabriel, please wait,” and then, “I’m sorry,” and Gabriel stops in the doorway as the water continues to run. He’s frozen. He wants to leave, but he can’t.

“You’ll forget about me, eventually,” Gabriel says, slow and careful. “I might be human now, Sam, but I am still not a nice man. You’ll get sick of me, eventually, and I’ll leave, and your life will go on. It’s best if we don’t…complicate things any more than we already have.” _I don’t deserve you,_ he wants to say. _Even as fucked up as you are right now, you are still the brightest thing I have ever seen, and I’m a coward who tried to run from his family and couldn’t even manage to keep that up._

“I don’t know _where_ you got that idea from. I’m not going to…to _abandon_ you. Not after everything you’ve done for me.”

“I don’t want a pity fuck either, Sam.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“We kissed. Twice. That’s precisely what this is. It’s a mixture of gratitude and pity, and once it’s over you’ll be ashamed of how far you let yourself fall.”

“I think you should give me a little more credit than that,” Sam murmurs. His voice is almost drowned out by the sound of the water, but Gabriel has the absurd idea that he would be able to hear Sam even if they were in the middle of a tornado. “I could have left the minute that I was feeling like myself again.”

“You would have gotten lost somewhere. You _aren’t_ yourself, not all the time.”

“I know, but I _could_ have.”

Gabriel half turns around, at once wanting to look and wanting to get away, because he can see Sam out of the corner of his eye – he’s all long, pale limbs, and dark hair, and subtle curves. He hasn’t been getting enough sunlight in the past few weeks, but the bridge of his nose is bright red. Possibly sunburned, from all the walking they’ve done today. They don’t have any aloe.

“I’m not stupid enough to say or do things I don’t mean to an archangel.”

“Former,” Gabriel corrects, but Sam shakes his head.

“That matters less than you think it does. To me, anyways.”

Gabriel doesn’t say anything. What the fuck is he _supposed_ to say, to something like that? Sam is too accepting and too forgiving for his own good. How many Tuesdays had Gabriel left Sam trapped in that time loop in Broward County? How many times had he made Sam watch his brother die? How many fake television shows had he made the brothers experience before they finally figured out who he was?

Sam should _hate_ Gabriel for all the misery he’s caused him and Dean. Maybe, grudgingly, respect him as well, but there should be hatred there. There should be resentment, and yet there isn’t.

“You should hate me,” Gabriel says.

“I think the only thing I’ve ever really hated has been myself, when I’ve done something stupid. Come shower with me, Gabe.”

Gabriel freezes. “What did you just call me?”

“Uh. Gabe? I just thought…I won’t do it again.”

“No, it’s…No one has ever done that. Before.”

“Given you a nickname?”

“Yeah.”

“First time for everything.” Sam reaches over the edge of the tub, then, extending his arm towards Gabriel. “Come on. Before the water gets cold.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Gabriel turns all the way around. He studies the curve of Sam’s shoulders, the breadth of them, and the way his hair curls damply around his ears, from steam or from sweat, Gabriel can’t tell. He lets his eyes move over the lean muscle of Sam’s pectorals, his forearms, his stomach. He hasn’t been out hunting, but it would take years for all of the muscle to fade from Sam’s body. It’s too ingrained in him.

Gabriel doesn’t let his gaze drift lower than Sam’s waist. Not intentionally, anyways. It’s sort of hard to not notice the fact that Sam is…gorgeous. Gabriel is no virgin, but he’s more versed in female sexuality than male - the automatic assumption had been that Loki desired virgins of the nubile, large-breasted sort.

It’s not to say he isn’t interested (his body’s emphatic arousal would immediately prove that to be a lie), he’s just…confused.

Still, Sam keeps holding out his hand. Beckoning.

After a long period of consideration, Gabriel begins to remove his clothes.

He toes off his shoes and socks, first, and, to be honest, it’s the hardest thing to do. There’s something horribly vulnerable about being barefoot. The arches of his feet seem so pale, so delicate – he feels off-kilter and ill at ease until Sam smiles at him, and then Gabriel hastily begins to pull off his shirt, trying to chase away that odd feeling of fragility. It’s easier to deal with, when the rest of him is bared as well – he drops the shirt to the floor, his hand straying briefly to the scar on his stomach as Sam watches him, expression sympathetic.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Not physically,” Gabriel says. “But I can never get warm. I never realized how hot my Grace was until I…” He closes his eyes, swallowing. _Lost it_.

“The water’s warm. Come here.”

“Give me a second.” He doesn’t need the time to take off his clothes – he’s already pushing his pants and underwear down, kicking them in the general direction of the door. No, he needs the moment to breathe. To reassure himself that, even if Sam _does_ toss him to the curb, he’s already survived much worse. He’s come back from the dead – he can handle a little bit of rejection, further along the line.

That in mind, Gabriel takes a deep breath, and then steps over the edge of the tub.

The shower is small, necessitating that they stand close to each other as the hot water washes around their feet. Sam has to curl an arm around Gabriel’s waist as he reaches around them both, pulling the shower curtain shut and then flipping the tab to turn the shower itself on. The sudden spray is jarring, but the arm around Gabriel’s waist keeps him from leaning backwards to avoid it.

“There,” Sam murmurs, and presses up against Gabriel’s side. “That’s better. Do you feel warmer?”

“I’m more concerned about you,” Gabriel admits. “How I’m going to get you out of the shower and dressed when you drift off again.”

“I won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I just am. I feel better, when you’re around. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I’ve found that trying to explain inexplicable things leads to trouble.”

“Then don’t think about it,” Sam laughs, and pulls Gabriel impossibly closer, pressing their bodies together, their hips, their thighs. Gabriel feels suddenly ashamed of how he’s reacting – he tries to pull away, but Sam holds him fast.

“Please don’t go,” he says.

And Gabriel, because he can’t think of anything else to do, because he’s bewildered and out of his depth, because he isn’t used to being _human_ in situations like this, does the only thing he can think of, the only thing that he can remember from his time as Loki that might, somehow, apply to this situation.

He pushes Sam up against the wall, and he leans up, and he kisses him.

It isn’t like their previous two kisses. For one, it’s Gabriel who’s initiating it, but, for another, it isn’t chaste, or soft, or sweet. Sam opens his mouth and everything is immediately hot and wet, and they’re pressed together so close that any outsider would be hard-pressed to find the seam between their bodies. Even Gabriel finds it difficult, finds it strange when Sam reaches down between them and touches his thigh. Shouldn’t they be one person? Shouldn’t there be no space between them at all?

“This is a mistake,” Gabriel sighs, and Sam sucks at his bottom lip, pulls at it with his teeth.

“Best mistake of my life.”

“Liar.”

Sam nips at his bottom lip – it feels like he should have drawn blood, but when he pulls away there’s no red staining his mouth. “Gabriel, do me a favor and just…shut up. For once in your life.”

Gabriel opens his mouth to protest, but Sam doesn’t give him much of a chance – he takes the opportunity to reach between them, to curve his palm against Gabriel’s thigh, and then to curl his fingers around the length of Gabriel’s dick. Sam has huge hands, long fingers; Gabriel hisses in surprise, and then lets his eyes drift close as Sam presses his mouth against his neck, not sucking, not biting, just…resting.

“You aren’t,” he tries to say, because Sam _isn’t_ , Sam is kissing his neck, he’s touching him, but from what Gabriel can tell, Sam isn’t…anything. He isn’t hard, his muscles aren’t tense with pleasure, he’s just…there. An obviously willing participant, but…

And then Sam rubs the pad of his thumb over the head of Gabriel’s cock, and his eyes roll back up into his head and he forgets what he was thinking about, because this is a thousand times better than masturbation, even if there’s still something _off_ about Sam, something keeping him from enjoying _himself_. And Gabriel is just enough of a selfish bastard to think that Sam could stop, any time he wanted. He could stop if it was his own pleasure he was looking for and, apparently, failing to find.

He _could_ stop, but he doesn’t.

Sam jerks him off under the hot spray of the shower, and Gabriel comes in his fist and across the curve of Sam’s belly without warning, orgasm once again taking him by surprise. He wants to think that it’s because Sam is really good at giving handjobs, but a more practical side of him points out that angels have complete control over their vessels. Everything from heart rate to refractory period is constantly monitored and regulated, and, occasionally, extended, or suppressed.

The truth is that Gabriel, no matter how many times he says he isn’t a virgin, has never had sex as a _human_. He’s like a teenager discovering porno magazines for the first time.

He doesn’t tell Sam any of this, only leans heavily against him, breathing him in. The water is beginning to run warm, instead of hot.

“Something’s wrong.” Gabriel glances up – he looks…confused. Not panicked, only concerned. “I didn’t…feel anything.”

“I noticed,” Gabriel says dryly. “Way to boost a guy’s ego.”

“No, it wasn’t you, it was…” Sam trails off, unable or unwilling to explain further. Gabriel watches his jizz swirl down the drain, and then reaches halfheartedly for the shampoo.

“Come on,” he says softly, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

Sam allows himself to be turned around, and ducks his head when Gabriel reaches up to shampoo his hair. His expression isn’t distant, but contemplative. He’s still _here_ , he’s just…thinking.

He’s still thinking, seven minutes later, when Gabriel turns off the water and reaches for a towel to dry Sam off. He’s still thinking when Gabriel tells him to get out of the tub and go back into the bedroom; he doesn’t need to be encouraged to move, but he doesn’t say anything, either.

But, as Gabriel is lying down on his own bed, still naked, still slightly damp, he feels a bright warmth press against his back, legs curling with his own. Sam, lying down behind him.

“I’m sorry,” Sam murmurs. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I just…wanted you.”

“It’s okay,” Gabriel says, but he can’t help the feeling that, maybe…maybe it isn’t. Maybe this is the start of something bigger.

Maybe it’s something worth worrying about.

~

They spend a single night in the motel – Sam sleeps like a log, but Gabriel has trouble falling asleep, even though he’s tired, even though his stomach aches. His worry keeps him up, and when the sun finally rises and Sam opens his eyes, Gabriel finds that he’s only managed to get a few hours of sleep, surely no more than three, four at the most.

“Did you sleep well?” Sam asks him, and Gabriel lies and says “yes”. The last time that Gabriel slept well was a little over two months ago, and he wouldn’t call it sleep, he would call it being _dead_. But Sam doesn’t have to know that, not with Cicero less than a two-hour drive away, and his brother waiting for him. Dean will probably be ecstatic. He’ll call down Castiel, tell Gabriel’s brother to stop being such a cryptic bitch, and then he and Dean will figure out what’s wrong with Sam. Why he keeps drifting off. Why he _wants_ but doesn’t _get_ , so to speak.

And Gabriel will be able to just…go. He’ll find someone who will be able to get him all the small, human things that he apparently needs – a birth certificate, a social security number, proof of residence, things like that – and then he can get a job. He’ll save his money. He’ll donate as much as he can to charity, he’ll help people, he’ll try to keep himself from being a raging asshole, and maybe, just maybe, when he dies he’ll be allowed to go back to Heaven. Maybe he’ll never be an archangel again, but he would give just about anything to see home at least one more time.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Home,” Gabriel answers, because he sees no point in lying.

The day manager gives them the phone number for the local long distance taxi service, as well as brief directions towards the nearest bus station. It’s almost an hour away, but Gabriel is sure there’s enough money left on Chuck’s debit card to pay for the whole ride.

Sam stands near the door, awkwardly, as Gabriel calls the taxi service and tells them where they are. He looks nervous, but Gabriel isn’t sure why.

“Why so glum, sunshine?”

“Oh.” Sam glances out the window, shrugging. “I don’t know. I mean…I feel better, in some ways, but…last night is just bothering me.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Gabriel cautiously touches Sam’s forearm, trying to offer comfort even though he himself is finding it difficult to pretend that everything will be all right. “We’ll get you to your brother, and he’ll call _my_ brother, and everything will be all hunky-dory again.”

“Yeah.” Sam tilts his head, glancing at Gabriel out of the corner of his eye. Slowly, one massive hand comes up and covers Gabriel’s, their fingers curling against each other. “You’ll stay, right? I don’t know what’s going to happen, but…you’ll stay?”

Gabriel swallows. “Sure, kiddo,” he says. “I’ll stay for as long as you need me.”

It takes the taxi ten minutes to get to them; in the meantime, Gabriel gathers up all of their things and carries them out to the front lobby, one bag at a time. He saves the two backpacks for last, knowing that they’ll be the most difficult to carry, but also knowing that their contents are more important to Sam than food, or water, or clothing. Winchesters, Gabriel has learned, have entirely fucked up priorities.

“The taxi is here,” Sam says faintly; a moment later Gabriel hears the _beep_ of a car horn. Sure enough, there’s a bright yellow cab sitting out in the parking lot, the driver impatiently hanging his head out the window, looking around. Gabriel sighs.

“Think you can carry some of these bags, kiddo?”

Sam shakes his head slowly, as if coming out of a daze. “Uh, yeah. Of course.” He picks up the two backpacks, easily hefting them over his shoulders, but he doesn’t move until Gabriel grabs the remaining bags and holds the door open for him. It’s like he’s worried that, if he moves too far away from Gabriel, he’ll end up…like he was before.

“Where to?” the driver calls out, and Gabriel heads for the trunk, beginning to pile in their few possessions. Sam wordlessly follows suit, neatly placing the backpacks beside their cache of food and water.

“Nearest bus station,” Gabriel replies. “Need to get to Cicero.”

“Cicero? Might as well just hire me for the whole ride, friend. Not like I have any other customers today.”

“Get us to the station, then maybe we’ll talk.” He wants to see how exorbitant the fee is going to be, first. “Come on, Sam. You want right or left?”

“I don’t really care.”

Gabriel shrugs, and heads for the left hand side of the cab. Sam’s got those long legs – if he doesn’t want to be cramped up like a sardine in a can for an hour, he’ll be better off sitting on the right.

“You should try and sleep,” Sam murmurs as Gabriel climbs into the cab. And then, “You’re not a very good liar.”

“I used to be,” Gabriel reminds him. “I used to be the best.”

“Things change.”

“Yeah. It sucks.” The driver starts the cab; the rumble of the engine is comforting. Gabriel closes his eyes and rests his head against the cool window. Consequently, he feels, rather than sees, Sam lean over and place his hand on Gabriel’s leg.

“Change doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” he says. Gabriel doesn’t answer.

He’s not sure he knows what to say, anyways.

~

Gabriel sleeps, but he doesn’t dream. He thanks his Father for small favors – the idea of having a nightmare, not only in front of Sam, but in front of the cab driver as well is shameful and difficult to process. He’s glad he manages to avoid the situation entirely.

He thinks it might have something to do with Sam’s continuing closeness, how he rests a hand near constantly against Gabriel’s arm, or his side, or his leg. How Sam, on occasion, leans forward in order to press his forehead to Gabriel’s shoulder. It isn’t quite a kiss, not with the driver keeping an eye on them, but when Gabriel is awake to feel it, he is appreciative.

The drive to the bus station takes an hour and fifteen minutes, as promised, but when they get there, when Sam shakes Gabriel’s shoulder to rouse him completely, he finds that he is disappointed with what he sees.

The bus station is swarming with people, people carrying briefcases and attaché cases, people with backpacks slung over their shoulders, people with purses and carry-on luggage and duffel bags and strollers. People of every size and shape, and people, it is sad to say, in varying stages of bodily cleanliness, which, Sam reassures Gabriel, is fairly normal for _most_ public transportation, although buses, it appears, seem to attract the extremes of every type.

“Most people buy tickets ahead of time,” the driver says casually. You boys should have ordered one online.”

“Left the laptop at home,” Gabriel grits out. He glances over the driver’s shoulder, towards the meter, faithfully keeping track of the price of their ride. It’s…it’s not _so_ bad. His understanding of money is still limited, in some ways, more due to lack of experience than anything else, but… “You said that you don’t have anything else to do today?”

“Gabriel, it’s okay,” Sam murmurs. His voice is distant, but clear. When Gabriel looks at him, his eyes seem to drift in and out of focus. Gabriel reaches over and touches Sam’s cheek, ignoring the driver (and whatever his opinions on such a move might be) entirely. It works – Sam blinks, and when he turns his head his expression is contemplative, but _there_. “We don’t _have_ to be there today. I mean, we can get another hotel room and stay the night. Buy tickets first thing in the morning.”

“The first sane thing you said to me was ‘Where’s Dean?’ If we get to him today, that’s one less day you have to spend on the road, and…” Gabriel trails off. _One less day you have to spend with me,_ he wants to say, but he knows that Sam will object to that. Maybe.

“Let’s just get there as soon as we can,” he finishes, and Sam, after a moment, nods. The driver restarts the car, the rumble of the engine vibrating through Gabriel’s legs.

“Where in Cicero?”

“Whatever the main street is.” Sam looks at him, puzzled, and Gabriel shrugs. “We’ll look up your brother’s new piece of tail in the phonebook. Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

Sam doesn’t. This time, as they drive, it’s Sam who closes his eyes and rests, trying to stave off the odd detachment that seems to want to creep over and consume him.

Gabriel keeps a wary eye on the road, wondering if they’ll be unlucky enough to get into an accident along the way.  



End file.
